The best part of me was always you
by that-was-tedious
Summary: It's been three years since the fall, and John has finally realized what it is he needs to do.
1. Chapter 1

It had been three years, three long years since John had witnessed his friend jump. He had always managed to cling on to some hope that his best friend would be coming back. Why? He didn't know, he knew he was dead. He saw his body lying on the cold concrete, he saw the blood soak his curls, and he saw the life leave his eyes. He hates to admit it but when Sherlock died, a part of him died as well. A shame it was the only part keeping him alive.

It's funny now that the things he was so easily annoyed by he missed the most. He almost wishes Sherlock would ask him to pass his phone even though he could easily reach it himself, he wishes he could still argue with him about who's turn it was to get the milk, he wishes he could be awoken by the sound of the violin at 3am in the morning. He even wishes he could hear Sherlock insult his dates. But it had been three years, any hope he had was gone, completely.

He should be over it by now, everyone else had managed. Lestrade, Molly, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft. They just all tip toe around him now, afraid he'll start crying at a mere mention of his deceased best friend. They were all there for him to begin with of course they really were, but they all gave up trying in the end, John managed to dampen the mood where ever he went. He tried to get over it, god how he tried. He visited endless amount of therapists, he put all Sherlock's things away into his room, hoping if he didn't see anything to do with him, he'd eventually forget. It didn't last long though, the flat didn't feel right. He ended up dragging everything back out, and putting it all back in the flat. He had no idea how he even had the flat still, he'd quit work, if he couldn't help himself how could he help other people? Either Mrs Hudson didn't need the money, or it was something to do with Mycroft, he was leaning more towards the idea of Mycroft.

The only good thing John had managed to do in the last three years was prove Sherlock innocence, he made sure it was on every news channel, every newspaper, he made sure that everyone heard, and he would never forget that look of guilt on Anderson and Donavan's faces, that task had kept him occupied for a rather long time, but as soon as that was proven and all forgotten about, he sunk back in to his usually routine.

John stood in the centre of the living room, glancing around the room at all of Sherlocks things, his skull still sitting on the mantelpiece, his violin laying on the window sill, his chair still across from Johns. He'd sit in Sherlocks chair somedays, it never helped it just made him feel worse, but yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. He turned to face the door, hoping Sherlock would burst through and apologize for being absent. Yet it didn't happen, it would never happen and today John accepted that, today John accepted what he needed to do.

He needed to end this. He had nothing left, his sister was still an alcoholic, she had infact gotten even worse, his friends tried their hardest to avoid him. All he had was a flat, a flat that was once the home of his best friend. A flat that he couldn't stand to be in anymore. And without that, he really did have nothing. He'd gone to war, he'd been a decent doctor, he'd proven the world's greatest detective's innocence, he had left his mark on the world, and now he knew it was time to leave it.

Authors note.

Am I a bad person?

Probably.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock had changed a lot over the past three years, his once brown hair has since been dyed every colour under the sun, he was even skinnier than usual, without having John there to nag him to eat he simply forgot. He had to lose the coat and suits in exchange for jeans and hoodies, he still had to leave his contemporary accommodation, and if he wore his usual attire he would've been noticed in seconds. Especially by John. Now Sherlock had seen John lots of time, he knew him well enough to know where he would be at what time. He made sure he never got to close, even with the hair and the clothes someone who knew him as well as John did would be able to tell it was Sherlock.

Sherlock would do anything to be able to rewind the past three years, anything at all, Sherlock would've done anything to have not met John. Not because he didn't want to, because oh how much he changed his life, the 2 years he spent with John were the best and by far the happiest years of his life. The reason for not wanting to meet John would be so he didn't have to go through this. John gave Sherlock everything, he helped him with cases, he actually cared about him enough to make sure he ate regularly , enough to make sure he was sleeping properly, he was Sherlock's best friend, and all Sherlock gave in return was this. Making John witness his 'suicide', leaving John with all the emotional pain people experience after the death of someone who they were close to, he would've given anything for John not to be involved in this, for John to have had a normal danger free life. But then again John craved danger, but he just wishes it could've gone a different way.

It wasn't just John who felt this pain, Sherlock missed John. He missed him a lot, he wishes he could speak to him on the street, he wishes he could just text him asking him to pick something up on the way from work but he couldn't, because that would be three years hard work down the plug. It's not that he didn't want to tell him, because he did, and he personally trusted John, if John knew what was really happening he would've kept it a secret, but Mycroft had forbidden him and he knew he had to listen.

….

Today was going to be different, it was three years since the jump, and all of Moriartys men had been either killed or were being dealt with by Mycroft. So he was safe, he could go back, he could go back to his bestfriend. If John wanted to see him though was a different story.

On his various outings he had seen John plenty of times. He had seen John go to turn to talk to him on the street only to realize he wasn't there. He had seen him buy two meals from the takeaway, he had seen him breakdown in the middle of tesco's whilst he was getting the milk they had so often argued about. He'd been through all of that, and for what? Nothing really, Sherlock was still alive, and that was that. All the therapists, all the tears, for a man that had lied to him.

Would John just tell him to leave his life? Sherlock wouldn't blame him if he did. He'd put him through hell for the past 3 years, why would he want to see the man who was the cause of all his pain? He had it all planned out in his head, he would explain about the gunman. The three gunmen who were ready to shoot him, Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson. He'd explain that he couldn't stand there and watch his only 3 friends in the world die for the sake of him. They were all good people, who'd been nothing but nice to him ever since he'd met them. They'd all put up with his constant deductions about their lives, they'd put up with everything and he couldn't ask for anything more.

And today was the day he'd go back, he'd try to mend everything that had happened, he'd apologize to everyone it had affected. They'd understand, John would understand, he knew his John would understand. He dressed back into his usual wear, suit, coat, scarf, and dyed his hair back to as close as he could get to his natural colour. It'd be easier to go back to John like this, as this was the Sherlock he knew.

He stepped out of the front door of the flat Mycroft was allowing him to stay in and he then made his way to 221b.

….

I will try to get another chapter up by the end of the weekend!

Thankyou to those who reviewed and thankyou to those who took the time out to read it!


	3. Chapter 3

John locked the door of 221b Baker Street for the last time, posting the keys back through for Mrs Hudson to pick up later. He had of course left a note explaining his actions.

''Dear whoever reads this, I can't do it anymore, I've tried for 3 long years I've tried to forget about him to no avail. He was my friend, my best friend, and he was the one who pulled me through, I never did tell anyone this but the day I met Sherlock I was planning to kill myself. There wasn't anything for me, I was living alone in a bedsit, I knew hardly anyone in London, and the people I did know didn't care very much, but then I was introduced to Sherlock, and everything changed. I lost my limp, there was the excitement back in my life, and now it's gone again I'm going back to how I felt before I met him. Back to the life with no use, back to living alone, back to…nothing. I hate how I dampen the mood anywhere I go, it's unfair on everyone else, and you've all moved on, it's unfair I bring the memories back. So it's for the best if I go ahead with this, I would just like to thank Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, and even Mycroft for putting up with me for this long, but now you can live your life without my constantly bringing up Sherlock whenever I see you.

I'm happy with the fact I got to prove his innocence, so I can leave this world a little happy at least.

Yours sincerely,

John H. Watson.''

….

John walked the all familiar route to St Barts, he had been here many times since Sherlocks death, but he'd never gone to the roof, so something new today. He made sure he went a way were he could avoid any conversations with Molly, and headed up the stairs.

…

Sherlock arrived at 221b, speech prepared; he knocked on the door and waited. He waited for 5 minutes, nothing. John weren't usually out at this time, so he knew something weren't right. He hated that he had to do this , but he had to ring Mycroft. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and dialled.

''Hello.'' Mycroft answered.

''Where's John, he's not at his flat.'' Sherlock began walking down the road, maybe he'd gone to tescos.

''Let me check.'' Mycroft walked across to his desk, and pulled up the various amount of security camera's on his computer. ''Ahh…''

''What?'' Sherlock was beginning to get worried now.

''He's at St Barts, I suggest you hurry.'' And with that Mycroft hung up.

….

Sherlock ran, he ran as fast as he could manage, taxis would be to slow right now; he needed to get to John.

John stood on the ledge of the roof, staring down at the spot where he saw he friend dying. He wiped a tear from his cheek, and thought of any possible reasons to live. He thought of Sherlock, he was the only thing he could think of right now. But he wasn't here, he wasn't here to stop him, Sherlock was dead, and John had only just accepted this. He had always, always hung on to the hope Sherlock would come waltzing back into his life as though nothing had happened, but now he knew this was never going to happen, and he couldn't live with that.

Sherlock burst through the doors of St Barts, avoided Molly's hello's and headed straight for the set of stairs he walked up 3 years ago. He saw John straight away, he was standing in the exact same spot Sherlock was when he jumped. He decided to approach with caution, not wanting to shock John, it might cause him to fall.

John took a deep breath.

''John!'' Sherlock screamed, as he watched him step over the edge.

John heard something, Sherlock's voice; Sherlock knew he was coming to join him. It was all going to be ok now, everything was going to fine. I'm coming for you Sherlock.

…...

Well I thought about doing a happy ending, but no. I thought this could be a sad story. Because I'm full of sadness lately. This is probably just adding to it but meh.

I'm sorry if you were expecting this to end happily. MWAHAHA. No, I made myself sad now.

Au reviour.


End file.
